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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616495">Taking the Edge Off</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyh95/pseuds/Lucyh95'>Lucyh95</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Levi hurts, There’s alcohol involved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:20:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyh95/pseuds/Lucyh95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a typical night, in the middle of the week and boring as hell, when he eyes the bottle of whiskey. Only— it's not. It never is. Not really. It's the same-old-same-drawn-out course of their shitty existence. Repeating repeating repeating. Because he could not stop it, could not do anything about it all - about something, not this time, nor the last time, or all the other instances that came before.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Taking the Edge Off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's a typical night, in the middle of the week and boring as hell, when he eyes the bottle of whiskey. Only— it's <em>not</em>. It never is. Not really. It's the same-old-same-drawn-out course of their shitty existence. Repeating repeating repeating. Because he could not stop it, could not do anything about it all - about <em>something</em>, not this time, nor the last time, or all the other instances that came before.</p><p><em>Humanity's Strongest Soldier, eh</em>. What a fucking joke. And he can't even laugh about it. He can't even get himself to put a sneer onto his face - something sinister, malicious, or perhaps something indifferent (so that he doesn't have to <em>feel</em>) - or, or— maybe something so sweet you will cut yourself on it. No. He can't do any of that. So instead, he eyes the bottle and grabs it, and drinks so much that even <em>he</em> gets drunk.</p><p>The alcohol burns on the way down; it stings and aches until it doesn't. He drinks until it takes off the edge, blurring the lines around him, blending it all in something softer, and hopefully, more tolerable <em>(oh so he wished).</em></p><p>It takes off the edge. But not the <em>source</em>.</p><p>He takes a step and then another, and the room sways, his vision tilting sideways, his once so sure treat reduced to nothing but fumbles and stumbles. He swallows, too wasted to be disgusted, the sour tang of bile biting at the back of his throat, in his mouth. And he can feel the pounding of his head quivering through him. The quiver originates in his toes. It climbs up and toward his once so steady fingers. It's a sickly sensation and too hot and too cold at the same time, and sweat adheres the back of his shirt to his skin. It <em>hurts</em>, even though he had imagined<em> (oh so foolishly)</em> that he would be numbed by now, and the world blurs with the sting of alcohol and maybe something more.</p><p>The haze that envelops his brain takes the edge off, the world around him finally a bit duller. But, in turn, it makes the painful cause of it all, the pit in him raging with emptiness and the overwhelming sensations of his emotions, so very much <em>clearer</em>, bringing everything so much sharper into focus. It's like cutting a knife on steel. Or maybe on <em>flesh</em>.</p><p>And now he laughs, the sound muffled by the softness of the carpet that lays now underneath him. Because it's not fucking <em>fair</em>. But he knows; the world isn't fair. Not to him, not to anyone else cooped up in this brick prison of them, that damned brick prison that is protecting them all the same.</p><p>He's so tired, so fucking drained that he can not even sleep.</p><p>So instead, Levi stays awake. He lays in his room, sprawled on the floor with the pounding of his heart heavy in his ears.</p><p>He watches as the shadows of the night creep across the ceiling as his nightmares do. He watches and waits, with dull eyes and a chest overflowing with an ache that not even whiskey could numb, until the first rays of gray morning light set in, announcing the start of a new day.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>English is not my first language, so especially with vague stories like this, I wonder if it all makes sense. I hope it does.</p><p>I wanted to write something about how even alcohol can not release Levi of his pain. The idea came to me, and thus this fic was born.</p><p>All the mistakes are mine.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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